Learning to fly

On a recent evening in Los Angeles, Mexican-American chanteuse Lhasa de Sela sat in the backstage area of the Conga Room nightclub dressed in a simple but elegant black dress and sparkling shoes that looked just like Cinderella's slippers.

Outside, in the club's ballroom, a crowd of about 300 had just been wooed by Lhasa's repertoire -- a collection of self-penned ballads that combine the raw passion of Mexican ranchera with the bohemian atmospherics of gipsy blues. Backed by acoustic guitar and cello, Lhasa had performed in English, Spanish and French with the intensity of a fallen angel.

But the singer, who will appear Saturday at the Old Town School of Folk Music, looked timid and uncomfortable in the Conga Room's dressing room. When the owner of the club complimented her choice of footwear, she blushed and flashed the same painfully shy smile that looks so seductive onstage whenever she introduces her songs with extended narratives about her life and family.

Musical influences

Speaking from her hotel room earlier that afternoon, Lhasa had spent a couple of minutes naming all the artists who have had a deep influence in her own music.

I asked Lhasa if she was familiar with "Hejira," Mitchell's masterpiece of confessional songwriting and emotional nakedness. She said she would look for it. "Careful," I cautioned her. "`Hejira' is volatile stuff. The kind of album that makes you ache inside."

"I love that," she replied in her flavorful Spanish. "I love it when music makes you hurt."

In between the release of her critically acclaimed debut "La Llorona" in 1997 and its 2003 follow-up "The Living Road," Lhasa ran away with the circus.

The singer joined three of her sisters (a contortionist, a tightrope walker and a clown) in a troupe that toured France a few years ago. Under the circus tent, she performed the Chavela Vargas classic "Luz De Luna" and other tunes, and enjoyed the routine of a traveling show.

"I loved the experience, but it was a lot of work," she says. "I admire my sisters, because they have been living the circus life for so many years." It was then that Lhasa composed many of the ethereal, haunting songs that make up "The Living Road." In essence, she says later, she used the songwriting process to heal her broken heart after a love affair that went sour. But even though her new album is imbued in pain as a result of this, she is quick not to blame her former lover.

"But romantic suffering makes you learn quickly what you really want out of life," she adds. "It teaches you to love and defend yourself."

Burned out

In Lhasa's case, the tortuous process of writing the new album reaffirmed her love for music -- a love that had exhausted itself in the late '90s out of too much touring behind her critically acclaimed debut.

"I'm already thinking of my next record," she offers. "Now that I've learned how to fly, I want to keep doing it. I want to make music that reflects all the love and light that I found within myself in order to survive the difficult times."

At the Los Angeles concert, Lhasa was clearly enjoying herself. Fueled by the fervent response of the crowd, she delivered luminous versions of her songs, showcasing a vocal intensity that recalls the theatrics of mariachi divas such as Lucha Villa but also the hip sensibility of a wounded alternative rocker such as PJ Harvey.

"There's so many voices going on inside me while I'm performing," she explains. "There's a self-criticism, fear, a state of trance. I have to navigate among all those feelings, which I guess explains why my shows are so intense. I will not quiet any of those voices down."

But music is not necessarily part of the singer's long-term future. Lhasa, who lives in Montreal surrounded by objects and mementos from her extended family, imagines herself settling down in the countryside.

"I want to paint and sing and do theater," she says wistfully. "I want kids. And lots of animals too. I want to be happy."